


At the End of Everything, Hold on to Anything

by horrific-space (richiespacedust1)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-02 00:32:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17877752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richiespacedust1/pseuds/horrific-space
Summary: I found this old wip in my files, and decided to work on it again. Keep in mind that this is still being worked on, and is subject to change.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I found this old wip in my files, and decided to work on it again. Keep in mind that this is still being worked on, and is subject to change.

“Just punch me and get it over with.” Race grinned, blood running down his face. Spot, no matter how hard he looked, couldn’t find where it was coming from. “Come on, shorty. Do it. I can tell ya want to.” The boy was insistent.  
“I’m not going to punch you, jackass. I’m trying to find the source of the bleeding. Now stay still.” Spot whispered, loud enough so Race could hear it, but no one else.  
“Oh, does the King of Brooklyn have a heart after all?” Race sneered. Spot could tell his nose was broken. And his brow was split. But if he started to patch him up here… Spot let the taller boy go, and stepped back. Race, whether by sheer determination, or advanced stupidity, took a step closer. Immediately, all the surrounding boys started advancing. Spot waved them off.  
“Let him say what he wants, boys.” But Race didn’t speak. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he crumpled. Instinctively, Spot caught him, lowering him to the ground. “Jesus Christ, boys, what did you do to him?”  
“We just… roughed him up a little.. Don’t know why he passed out like that..” Spot rolled his eyes. “Hotshot, help me take him inside. And someone go tell Jack we got his boy.” Hotshot easily slung Race over his shoulder, carrying the kid without any help from Spot. He smiled back at Spot, who just shook his head, following behind.

Race sat up, panic flooding his system. He was in a place he didn’t recognize, filled with strong-looking boys, and the smell of seaspray. He wasn’t… Oh shit. Sitting right next to him was the King of Brooklyn himself, looking at him with a quizzical stare. Why could he only see out of one eye? Why did his face hurt so much? Why was there…  
“You okay?” Oh. He could speak. Race nodded, his mouth feeling like thick jelly. “Do you remember what happened?” Before Race could answer, the door burst open, and Jack came barreling in.  
“Where is he?!” He looked ready for a fight. Race’s mood skyrocketed just seeing his friend. Spot spoke before Race could make a noise.  
“He’s right here. He got into a petty fight with one of my boys by the docks. He passed out, and we took him back here so I could patch him up.” His words were quick, concise. But Race couldn’t help but notice the way his eyebrows slightly raised, and the worried glance he gave him. Jack immediately rushed over, sitting on the bed next to Race.  
“Heyyy Racer. How ya feel?” Even though Race was older than him by three months, Jack was always protective of him. Jack was protective of everyone. He opened his mouth to speak, and blood poured out, scaring them both. Spot laughed, and Race tried to memorize the sound.  
“Yeah, probably should have warned you about that. He bit his tongue pretty bad when I set his nose. Cried a bit, too.” Jack just stared at Spot, and Race could only imagine the murderous thoughts going through his head. He coughed, and Jack looked back at him.  
Race smiled. “All better. See?” He croaked, teeth bloody, his face badly bruised. Jack smiled, and lightly punched his shoulder. Race winced.  
“Wanna go home now?” Race nodded.  
“I’ll meet you outside. I just wanna… say something to Spot real quick.” Jack nodded, and left. Spot and Race were alone. They sat in silence for a few moments, before Race, who was usually quick witted, worked up the courage to speak.  
“I wanna say thanks… for uhhhh…” He motioned to his face.  
“You’re welcome. Just… be more careful next time.” Spot’s voice was quiet, and Race knew just how uncharacteristic that was for the small leader. “Don’t come into Brooklyn looking for a fight. You’ll always find one and you don’t want to ruin your pretty face, ya hear? It’s dangerous around here and you’re lucky I came when I did.”  
Race stopped listening as soon as Spot had called him pretty. The sentence repeated in his head as he stared at Spot, his face burning.  
“Hey.. are.. Are you okay?” Spot had moved closer, and was looking in his eyes like something was off about them. “You zoned out there. I thought you had something wrong with your brain.” Race’s face got impossibly hotter at the new proximity.  
“Uhhh… yeah. I’m good. I’m fine. P… peachy.” he stuttered. Spot smiled, and backed up. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, elbows resting on his knees, chin resting in his hands. Race felt a rush of emotion at seeing Spot so… relaxed, and started leaning forward. Realizing what he was about to do, he stood up. “Jack’s still waitin. I should go.”  
Spot smiled slyly. “See ya soon, Racetrack.” He drawled.  
“Uhhh… yeah. Bye.” He booked out the doors, almost crashing into Jack. He apologized, blaming it on his swollen eye and fuzzy brain. Jack just laughed, and wrapped his arm around Race’s waist, steering them towards home.

Jack insisted that Race slept next to him that night. Race knew it was because Jack was worried about him, and that he wanted to talk, but Race still couldn’t shake the thought that something was… off. Maybe it was the way Jack looked at him as they sat in the loft, maybe it was the fact that only Davey was allowed up here, and then Jack asked him to come up. Davey was asleep, curled around one of Jack’s shirts, charcoal smudged on his face. Jack must have been doodling again. Race smiled, glad that Davey was finally comfortable with himself, and that he was finally happy.  
“So, Race…” Jack’s voice was quiet. Measured. Race looked at him carefully, searching for any sign of anger. He hated it when Jack was mad at him. “Why… why were you in Brooklyn?” Oh. He wanted to know that.  
“I uhh.. I went to see someone. To uhh. How do you say it… confess my feelings? Seeing you and Davey so happy just… I want that. You know?” Oh god did he really just say that out loud? Jack smirked.  
“A pretty girl perhaps?” Jack nudged him with his elbow.  
“You know very well I don’t like girls, Jack Kelly.” Race monotoned, face devoid of emotion.  
“Do I?” He sounded honestly confused.  
“Do you not remember walking in on me an Albert?” Race asked tentatively, his face starting to get hot.  
Jack laughed, and Race immediately eased up. “I thought that was some weird dream I had! That really happened?”  
Race couldn’t help but laugh, too. “Yeah. But apparently it was a… quick fling for him. It hurt for a while, but I got over him.” He didn’t like thinking about what happened with Albert. He also didn’t want to talk about who he was going to see in Brooklyn. Jack…. Wouldn’t like it, to say the least.  
“So, spill. Who was it you were going to see? Was it… that tall guy? Uhh what’s his name? Hot Shit or something?” he really wasn’t going to let him get away with this, was he?  
“No. God, no. Hotshot’s the one who busted me up. It’s… uh, it’s someone else. With a little more… stature.” Race knew Jack wasn’t stupid. That, given time, he’d figure it out. He watched Jack’s face carefully, watched him mull over everyone he knows of that lives in Brooklyn.  
“Kid, I can’t think of anyone who’s worthy of you so is it really that big of a deal?” Jack smirked, messing with Race’s hair. Race batted him away, blushing. Jack’s smile faded, and he looked Race dead in the eye. “Listen, kid. I don’t want you to get hurt. And rejection hurts. So, maybe… try to find out if Mr. Brooklyn likes you, too, before you make your move. Yeah?”  
Race couldn’t help but smile. “Sure, Jack. Whatever you say.” With that, Race curled up next to him, and went to sleep.

Like usual, they got up early, sold papers. Race got a lot of crap for his busted brow and broken nose, but he just brushed it off. It’s not like it mattered. And, besides, Davey patched him up a little better than Spot did.  
“Who did this, Race?” Davey had asked, his hands moving gently over Race’s face, trying to think of what he could do. Race smiled.  
“Ah, it was nothing. Just got a little busted up.” He didn’t want Davey knowing about his trip to Brooklyn. Luckily, Jack didn’t say anything, just sat quietly and watched, occasionally doodling something on paper.  
“What do you mean 'it’s nothing’? Race, your nose is badly broken, your face is bruised to Hell, and there’s dried blood.. Everywhere!” Davey was the only real sensible one out of all the Newsies. And when one of them got hurt, Davey went into full mother hen mode.  
“Davey, seriously. It’s okay. Spot patched me up pretty good.” Fuck.  
“SPOT CONLON? Why in the WORLD was Spot Conlon over here?” Davey shot Jack a glare. “Jack Kelly, what the FUCK happened?” He snapped. Jack and Race were both taken aback. Davey never swore.  
“He uh… you see…” Jack stuttered, glancing at Race for help. He hated lying to his boyfriend.  
“I went to Brooklyn. And I got beat up by a kid there. That’s all there was. Spot found me on the ground with his boy beating on me.. He stopped him and talked to me, and when I passed out, he brought me inside, patched me up, sent for Jack. He helped me, Davey. There was no turf war, nothing bad.” Davey stared at him, exasperated. Race glanced over at Jack, who was staring at him with a knowing look. Race thought that he had probably figured out who “Mr. Brooklyn” was. And for some reason, he wasn’t nervous.  
But when Davey was done cleaning him up, grumbling about how Spot actually did a pretty good job, there was no mention of it from Jack. When the bell rang, and they got their papers, they went their separate ways. The day, like most, was uneventful. He got a few weird looks from people, but there were no confrontations. The papers sold well. Albert jokingly chalked it up to Race’s broken face, and that people pitied him. As they were heading back to the lodge house, Albert pulled him into an alley. They stood there for a few moments, Albert looking around to make sure no one could see them.  
“Jack told me about your uhhh… trip to Brooklyn, yeah?” He said, sure that no one had seen them. Race’s face immediately heated up.  
“What about it?” What did Jack tell him?  
“He said you were pretty broken up about it. Wanted me to uh.. To check on ya. Make sure you weren’t… too bad.” He wasn’t… oh.  
“No, I’m fine. Just spooked me a little. Them Brooklyn boys sure are big.” he tried to smile, and gave a weak laugh. Tried to make it seem like he had just gotten spooked. Albert immediately cracked a big grin.  
“Well, alright then, Racer. Guess you’re okay after all. Nothin I need to worry about? You ain’t gonna… run off with some guy?” Not gonna… what?  
“Wait why do you care if I get with some guy?” He sounded a little harsher than he meant to. Albert looked uncomfortable. “You know what, nevermind. I have somewhere to be, so can I please go?” Race didn't wait for him to answer, and started to walk away.  
"Jack told me about what you said. About... us. And I'm sorry. That I made you feel like that." Race didn't even look at him. He just kept walking, and when he reached the end of the alley, turned and said "Then maybe you should've said something a little sooner."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race is a lovestruck dumbass part two ft. Mom Friend Spot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only like 10 sentences of this chapter had been written when I first came up with the idea. The rest of it was written in three days

After Race left Albert in the alley, he made a beeline for Brooklyn. No use going back to the lodge, where he'd just get pestered to play a game of blackjack, or dragged into another one of Romeo and Mush's debates. And he did NOT have the energy for another one of their debates. So he started walking. It was a three hour trip by foot to Brighton Beach, but it was necessary, since Race needed to get this off of his chest. He's been thinking about it for weeks. Possibly months, if he was being completely honest with himself. At least since the strike ended.  
It was rough for a while. Awkward, even. None of them wanted to be back working for a capitalist asshole like Pulitzer, but they needed money. And now that Jack was drawing in the paper, he was giving his extra money away. He said he didn’t want to leave for Santa Fe anymore. Everyone knew it was because he now had Davey.

Before he knew it, Race had reached Brooklyn. He took back streets, dodging any person he heard. He didn’t need to get beaten up any more than he already was. He also didn’t want anyone knowing he was there.  
Race made it to the docks without any confrontation, and as he looked around, a familiar voice came up from above him.  
“Well, well, well. Look who just couldn’t stay away. Come back for another beating, Racetrack?” The Brooklyn boy smiled, and it took Race a moment to recognize him as Hotshot, the one who beat him up the day before. Hotshot looked worse off than he was, with two black eyes and a swollen lip. Race could only imagine who did that to him. Hotshot jumped down from the boxes he was perched on, but immediately backed down as Spot walked up.  
“Race. Walk with me.” They walked in silence until they got to the lodging house. Just like the last time he was here, Race was amazed at just how many people there were in the lodging house.  
“And I thought Manhattan was crowded.” He laughed, more of a nervous sound than anything. Spot didn’t answer, just kept walking. They got quite a few stares from people, and Race just hoped that it was because of his broken face, and not because they all knew what he was about to say. Once they reached the back of the room, away from everyone else, Spot turned to him.  
“You’ve got thirty seconds to explain to me what you’re doing here.” Well, that wasn’t exactly the warm welcome Race was expecting. He fidgeted, trying to think of a way to say what he’s thought about for months now. God, he should have practiced on the way here.  
“I… uh…. We need to talk.” He blurted, his face burning. Spot stared at him for a couple seconds, and Race panicked. He could now see why everyone was scared of the self-proclaimed King of Brooklyn. Race never wanted to be on the receiving end of that stare again.  
“I thought we were talking, Racer.” Spot finally said something, and Race eased up a bit. He gave a weak laugh.  
“Yeah, I guess. So, Spot, I uh… I got something I need to tell you.” He refused to meet Spot’s eyes, and instead opted to kick at the ground. Eventually, Spot got a little annoyed with the silence, and he poked Race in the chest.  
“Are you gonna speak or what? I got work to do.”  
“Yeah. Yeah, I am. I appreciate you, Spot. I appreciate what you did for me yesterday, and for what you did during the strike. I just came to let you know that.” Dammit. Why was he so useless? Spot grinned, and Race’s heart went into a frenzy.  
“Well, you’re welcome, Racer! Brooklyn’s always got your back.” Race didn’t think Spot knew how much that actually meant to him. He nodded, and cleared his throat a couple times.  
“I should probably get going.” Race whispered, turning away. Before he could get very far, Spot stopped him.  
“It’s getting late. Why don’t you just stay here for the night?” At that exact moment, the usually noisy room went silent, and Race could feel the eyes of every Brooklyn Newsie on him. Race guessed Spot Conlon doesn’t really invite people to stay the night. Especially if that someone is from Manhattan. His entire body feeling like it was on fire, he managed to nod.  
For the rest of the day, he followed Spot around the lodging house like a lost puppy, taking in everything he could. As Spot checked on everyone, tended to injuries, and just made sure everyone was good in general, Race noticed how much it reminded him of Manhattan. Except there was no Jack and Davey, no worried parent crew to tuck the younger Newsies into bed, tell them a story, and kiss their heads. Spot was a one man show. Race quietly wondered why that was.  
Eventually, everyone had been checked on, the little ones tucked in - Spot didn’t kiss their foreheads, but he did sings to them quietly - and it was finally time for sleep. As they walked back to the wing of the lodging house Spot slept in, Race tried to strike up a conversation.  
“Things sure are different here then in Manhattan.” He laughed. Spot just nodded, and Race realized just how tired he looked.  
“God, Spot, how do you do this alone?” Race asked when it was obvious Spot wouldn’t respond to his first comment.  
Spot shook his head. “I don’t know. Every night it’s the same routine. I get back from selling, make sure everyone got something to eat. Then I eat, and I make sure no one has any injuries, and I help those who do, and by that time, it’s time for everyone to sleep. But… I need to make sure everyone is okay. That they’re safe. I can’t sleep without knowing.” He whispered. Race realized just how much Spot cared at that moment.  
As soon as they got to Spot’s bed, Spot smiled apologetically and whispered “we’ll have to share,” before passing out in the middle of the bed. Race’s heart leapt into his throat, and he gently crawled onto the bed, positioning himself around Spot’s small frame. Not even three minutes later, like a heat-seeking missile, Spot was curled as close to Race as he could physically get, all without waking up. Race’s face got impossibly hotter, but he rested his chin on the top of Spot’s head, and closed his eyes.

Race woke up a few hours later, and it took him a few seconds to realize that it wasn’t Buttons wrapped around his waist, but Spot Conlon. And Spot put off body heat like a human-sized heater. Race started to carefully untangle the sleeping leader’s arms - and legs - from around him, but Spot just burrowed closer, mumbling something in a language Race couldn't understand.  
“I love you.” Race whispered. Spot mumbled again, and Race’s heart sped up slightly, thinking he had been heard. He waited a few seconds to make sure Spot was still sleeping, and when he knew it was safe and he hadn’t been heard, he drifted back to sleep.

The next morning, Spot nudged him awake. Race sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, to see him sitting with his back to him, a shirt hung around his shoulders. Race had to resist the urge to reach out and touch the freckles that covered Spot’s back. There were also quite a few scars, and Race guessed that they were probably from accidents on the docks. He decided it was better not to ask.  
“The morning bell will ring in a couple hours. If you want to get back to Manhattan before it, I suggest you leave now.” Spot whispered, pulling the shirt down to cover his body. Race contemplated repeating what he said last night, but thought better of it when he heard some other people start to stir.  
“Yeah, I should get going. Thanks for letting me stay.” He stood up quickly, and was out the door before Spot could answer. Booking it through the streets, he only slowed down when he could no longer see the lodging house. Leaning up against a building, Race caught his breath, and thought over everything that had happened in the past twelve hours.  
He made it to Brooklyn and almost got beat up - again. Spot showed up and gave him a silent tour. They talked, and Race managed to not blurt out everything he had ever thought about Spot - none of the stupid thoughts about holding his hand or kissing him, or the dreams, or even the small stuff he loved about Spot, like how he had a little crease in between his eyebrows when he was annoyed, or how his eyes reminded Race of warm, fresh coffee. He had shared a bed with Spot Conlon, had even told him he loved him. Granted, Spot wasn’t conscious at that time, so he hadn’t actually heard him. Race sank to the ground, his head in his hands. He groaned, realizing just how hard he had fallen. Jack is never going to let him hear the end of this. Standing up, he finished the long walk back home.

He made it home just as the bell rang, and was greeted with various sleepy “hey, Racer,” and “where’d you go last night?,” and more than a few knowing looks. Race figured Albert hadn’t been the quietest about his leaving. And, in all honesty, Race didn’t blame him. He hadn’t been the nicest to his friend. Saying a few quick hellos, he ran to get changed, hoping no one would notice how red his face was.  
As he pulled on a pair of pants - careful not to stick his foot through the hole in the knee - Buttons sat on the bed next to him. He could feel Button’s leg bouncing like it always did when he was nervous.  
“Where were you last night?” Buttons whispered, his voice shaking slightly. That’s when it hit Race. Buttons hated sleeping alone. It made him panic, as he was prone to night terrors and needed someone to comfort him. Last night was probably torture for him.  
“God, kid, I am so sorry. It got late and I wasn’t thinking. They weren’t too bad, were they?” Buttons just shook his head, and Race could tell he was lying. “Listen, next time I stay out all night I’ll let you know in advance, okay? You could sleep with Albert, or Finch if you have to.” He could tell Buttons didn’t like that idea. Not knowing what else to do, he made a mental note to talk with Jack about Buttons’ anxiety. Pulling Buttons into a hug, he kissed his temple and stood, offering his hand. “Let’s go sell some papers.” Finally, Buttons smiled, and stood with him. They raced each other on the way out of the lodging house, and almost collided with Jack as they reached the square. As they were lining up to buy today’s paper, Race heard the words he had been dreading.

“So tell me. How was the King of Brooklyn?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos are obviously appreciated, and if you leave a comment I can guarantee you I'll cry and reread it multiple times. And for those wondering, part four of the Chicago AU will be out within the next week and if it isn't feel free to come to my apartment, punch me, and force me to finish it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
